


Fever

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Elvhen Ascension [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Complicated Relationships, Dom/sub Undertones, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Power Dynamics, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 22:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: A flu grasps hold of the Inquisitor at Skyhold.





	Fever

The Iron Bull slowed as he came just inside to the door to his bedroom, his fingers lingering on the handle behind him. When he inhaled, he smelt the Inquisitor, the trail recent… And yet there was no sign of him. Iron Bull’s bed was empty, although deprived of its quilt, and there was no sign of the elf around the room…

Iron Bull looked up.

From the hanging ropes that were strung over the gap in the stone roof, which he used to hang a tarpaulin from when it rained or snowed, he saw a canopy hanging in place. A weight was in the middle of it, like stone wrapped up in a sail.

“Is that my blanket?” he asked dryly.

There was a moment’s pause, as he saw the stone shift marginally. He heard Lavellan yawn.

“Technically,” Lavellan replied, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep, but his voice sounded thick and slow, “it’s the Inquisition’s blanket.”

“Get down here,” Bull said, and he watched as Lavellan shifted to the edge of his makeshift hammock, headfirst, and then slid his hands to the rope. It was easy to remember, in the moment, that he’d grown up climbing trees and jumping waterfalls: he swung as easily as an acrobat down from the rope, hanging for a moment before he dropped. Normally, he dropped from heights twice that as light as a little pussycat, but now he stumbled just slightly.

He wasn’t looking Bull in the eye. His dark eyes were downcast, focused on some point in the middle distance, and Bull pushed the door closed, taking a long few moments to examine the other man. He looked tired. Lavellan’s shoulders were down, and Bull didn’t think he was imagining the bags under his eyes.

“I don’t like it when you don’t look at me,” Bull said gently. “Makes me feel like you’re scared.”

“Sorry,” Lavellan said, and his gaze refocused, landing on Bull’s face. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“What, the bed too good for you?” Bull asked, and he reached out, cupping his palm against the side of Lavellan’s cheek. “Kadan, you’re warm. Here I was thinking this was some new sex game, the Dalish warrior leaping onto his unsuspecting prey. Guess I was wrong, huh?”

Lavellan stared up at him, uncomprehending, and Bull felt himself frown, reaching up to put the backs of his fingers to the front of Lavellan’s forehead. He was more than warm, here – he was _hot_, and a little damp and clammy. Shit.

“I needed the fresh air,” Lavellan said, reaching up, his shaky fingers touching the back of Bull’s palm. He finally seemed to take in what Bull had said, and he mumbled, “Didn’t come here for sex. Just wanted to be left alone.”

“I don’t wanna leave you alone right now, kadan,” Bull said.

“Didn’t mean you,” Lavellan muttered, leaning forward in a dead fall, and Bull caught him easy, wrapping his arms loosely around the elf’s shoulders and drawing his fingers through his hair, less because it’d feel good, and more to test how damp it was with sweat. The answer was very, even though it was a mild day up here in the mountains. “Giselle… Pilgrims wanting to talk all day. Couldn’t sleep last night, coughing, nightmares. Cullen wanted resources, training, _knocking_, I…”

He trailed off. This wasn’t the wry, confident Inquisitor the Bull was used to: Lavellan was hazy and out of it, and Bull exhaled. Couldn’t just carry him across the fortress – even if people couldn’t see from a glance that he was sick, which would spread enough panic, carrying him asleep across Skyhold would make for too much wheat in the rumour mill.

“You feeling dizzy? Sick?” he asked.

“Just wanted to sleep,” Lavellan said, sounding so exhausted he was almost on the verge of tears, and Bull moved him by the hips back toward the bed. “Cassandra came looking for me here, just put her head in the door… Didn’t see me.”

“You’re a sneaky little bastard,” Iron Bull agreed.

“Not little,” Lavellan protested, and fell down onto the edge of the mattress, swaying a little. Bull gently pushed him to lie down, and then he hauled one of the crates into the middle of the room, standing up on it so he could unknot the blanket.

“_Down_,” Bull rumbled when he saw Lavellan lean forward, and Lavellan hesitated, but then he obeyed, settling his head down on the pillow. When the two corners of one side of the blanket came down, Bull caught the elf’s waterskein before it could hit the floor, and he tossed it onto the bed. “Drink.”

Lavellan leaned up slightly, taking a few awkward sips from his water, and Bull took hold of the blanket, throwing it over him.

He turned, grabbing hold of the door that led to the attic room of the Herald’s Rest, and he poked his head through. He had to focus to see the little freak, hovering like a spider from one of the corners of the room, tangled up in made-up webs.

“Hey!” Bull said lowly. “Go get Solas.”

“Aching and aching,” Cole replied dreamily, dropping into a crouch on the floor, instead of from the ceiling. “Throat thick and full of phlegm, dizzy on dancing feet, and oh, they knock, they just keep knocking, won’t they stop? Won’t they go away?”

“Yeah, he’s sick, I get it,” Bull said. “Go get Solas.”

“That will help?”

“Yeah,” Bull said. It was like he dematerialised in front of Bull’s eyes, making his head hurt, and Bull turned back on his heel, coming back into the room. Lavellan hadn’t moved to pull the blanket tighter around himself: it was laid loosely over his body, and Lavellan’s eyes were closed, his breathing slightly laboured.

“There’s a flu going around,” he said to the elf, taking up the skein, and he dabbed a little of the cold water onto his fingers, rubbing it into the tender skin on the elf’s wrists. It wasn’t as cold as he’d like, but it did make Lavellan sigh with relief, however slight. “You probably caught that. Sent Cole to get Solas, so he can have a look at you.”

“Can’t let people know I’m sick,” Lavellan said. It wasn’t an order – it came out more as a question, uncertain as he looked up at Bull, and Bull nodded his head. Was that why he’d decided to hide in Bull’s room, instead of one of the other ramparts, one of the other hidden beams around the fortress? “Bull…”

“What?” Bull asked.

“Sorry,” Lavellan said, and Bull’s brow furrowed. He felt _guilty_, to his own surprise, that Lavellan was so out of it and feeling _sorry_, why sorry, just ‘cause of his joke about fucking? And then Lavellan’s fingers were reaching up, trying to touch Bull’s chest. “Let me—”

“Hands down,” Bull said, leaning closer. “Relax.”

Lavellan’s fingers brushed the tooth hanging from Bull’s neck. His eyes were closed, and Bull gently took his hands by the wrists as he heard the door open and close quietly behind him. Lavellan was completely out of it, now, his fingers weak, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Ar lath ma. Kadan, ma vhenan…" His head lolled, loose on his shoulders. “Ir abelas, ir madran, mir din’an sahlin…?”

“Shit,” Adan said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and he brought more water to Lavellan’s lips, making him drink. Solas came to the other side, his palms glowing just a little as he spread them over Lavellan’s body. “How long’s he been like this?”

“He said he was sick last night,” Bull said, stepping back to watch them work. “Cole, how long’s he been here?”

“Safe where the Bull sleeps,” Cole said, tugging at the rim of his own hat. “Questing in the king’s kingdom here, under his rule, not mine, no sisters stopping me sleeping, no pilgrims picking at my patience… Hours of peace, hours, ‘til the heat and wooziness take hold.”

“Right,” Bull said. “Whatever the fuck that was. Isn’t this guy _not_ a healer?”

“Adan is an alchemist,” Solas said as Adan dug through a bag for a bottle. “But I know him to be trustworthy when it comes to the Inquisitor’s secrets. Word of this cannot be allowed to travel about the fortress. That is, I presume, why you didn’t call for your own healer?”

“The Chargers can be discreet if they need to,” Bull said. “But they talk to each other, too much chance to be overheard. And besides, he treats you like his Daddy, so why shouldn’t I?”

Solas pressed his lips together, shooting Bull a disapproving look. “Curious that you would say such a thing, being as you have so little frame of reference to go by.”

“Trying to distract himself,” Lavellan said, blinking tiredly. “Better than crying. Is this a _fever_?”

“Yes, lethallin,” Solas said. “How close to consciousness are you?”

“A few hundred miles away,” Lavellan said. “At least.”

“He seems keener than he was a second ago,” Bull said. He felt a little sick himself – he wasn’t prone to illness, but now there was nausea coiling in his gut. _Worry_. “That from what you gave him?”

“No, just that he’s lying down,” Adan said. “We need to get him back to his own bed.”

“Put me in the crate,” Lavellan said. His eyes were closed. Iron Bull wondered how much pain he was in, the way his brow furrowed, his lips twisted.

“What?” Adan demanded.

“Blanket,” Lavellan said. “Line it. Put me in. Bull can carry. S’big enough.”

“It’s big enough,” Bull agreed.

“I don’t think…” Adan said, but Solas and Bull were already moving, tugging the lid off the crate and pulling out Bull’s armour from the inside. “Are we doing this?”

“We move him as soon as possible,” Bull said. “He can’t be in here.”

“But people know you two are—”

“In case it _rains_, dumbass,” Bull growled, and for the first time, Adan seemed to notice the hole in the ceiling.

No wonder he figured it was a good place to hide.

\--

Later, Lavellan was fast asleep in his own bed.

He’d been sick a few times, but he’d managed to choke down some dry toast and some lemon tea, and he was going to be fine, but there wasn’t much they could do with him, really. He’d gotten hit worse than most of those living in Skyhold, but a few were affected as badly was he was. It was nothing more than a bad flu, and so long as the fever was kept down and he kept hydrated, he’d be fine in a few days, but he was in for some misery first.

Cole was guarding the stairs, dissuading anybody who came to seek out the Herald with sudden realisations that they had something to do elsewhere, and pushing them not to come back. Cassandra had been up to have a look at him, but Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were keeping their distance – better that no one worry much about everyone important coming up to Lavellan’s quarters, let alone any of the rest of them catching the same thing.

Bull hadn’t slept.

He was sitting on the floor, the blanket they’d lined the box with folded underneath him, his back against the wall, his elbows rested on his knees. It was the middle of the night now, the candle flickering on the end table, and Solas was leaning back in the armchair pulled up to the bed, his head tipped back against the back of it. His eyes were lidded, but he wasn’t asleep: his gaze never left Lavellan’s rising and falling chest.

It wasn’t that weird for Bull and Lavellan to be holed up for a day or two, when other things weren’t pressing too tightly, and as for Solas, people would believe he was off on some solo adventure. Connecting the three absences wouldn’t occur for most of the fortress – Varric would clock it, sure, maybe a handful of the other higher-ups around the place, but not the regular folk.

“I don’t speak Elvish,” Iron Bull said. “What was he saying, before he passed out the first time?”

“He said he loved you,” Solas said quietly. “You ought sleep, Bull. I’ll keep a watch over our Inquisitor.”

“That’s not all he said,” Bull murmured.

“The fever was taking hold,” Solas said. “He thought he was dying. He told you he was sorry.”

_That’s_ what he was sorry for? “For _dying_?”

“Do not dwell on it,” Solas advised, turning to meet his gaze. “He was confused, scarcely awake. Sleep, Bull. You can continue your vigil come morning.”

Bull was silent, watching Lavellan sleep. He’d taken it too far, maybe, the game they played. Was that why he was sorry? Sorry he hadn’t asked permission to die – or sorry to leave Bull _sad_, aggrieved…?

Lavellan turned over on the bed, twisted in his blankets. He mumbled something Bull couldn’t make out, head tossing on the pillow, even as he strained his ears, and Bull watched Solas’ fingers brush his temple.

“He’s here, da’len,” Solas murmured. “You can sleep.”

Lavellan didn’t stir again, and Bull laid himself to bed down for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> _“Ar lath ma. _Kadan_, ma vhenan… Ir abelas, ir madran, mir din’an sahlin…?_
> 
> _"I love you._ Kadan, _ my heart... I'm sorry, I'm dizzy, am I dying...?"_
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq).


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